


I'm Standing At The Crossroads Now (The Fields Of Opportunity)

by rathernotmyname



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Title: This Is Why We Can't Give Joe A Wig, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben and Gwil Know Things, BoRhap Boys Fluff, BoRhap crew members deserve higher wages, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mazlek Exchange 2k19, Medical Inaccuracies, No Smut (sorry), Non-Graphic Description of Vomiting, Non-graphic depictions of illness, Not Beta Read, Rami and Joe are in love™, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Slow Burn, So much hurt/comfort, Somewhat, Surgery, Title from "I Will Dance" by Katzenjammer, as much as reality can be canon, because that's what the request said don't @ me, beta reader who?, but they don't know it, editing? don't know her, everyone else does just saying, hah, sick!Rami, terrified!Joe, this is self-indulgent hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathernotmyname/pseuds/rathernotmyname
Summary: “Oh golly. That sucks,” Joe said.“Oh ‘golly’?”“Bite me.”Rami chortled. Joe gave him a Look, but it was more fond than annoyed. It was mostly fond, actually. Very fond. Really, really fond—“What about you?”“Huh?” Rami blurted, caught off guard.“You got the flu, too? Are you cold?”“No. Why?”How does a relationship emerge? In this case, take two guys who are pure of heart but also dumb of ass and a healthy (well, unhealthy) portion of bad luck. (In Joe's opinion, the necessitiy of the aforementioned bad luck is highly debatable.)Or:Rami isn't doing well. Joe is worried. Both are pining. It gets worse from there (but also better).
Relationships: Ben Hardy & Gwilym Lee & Rami Malek & Joe Mazzello, Rami Malek & Family, Rami Malek & Sami Malek, Rami Malek/Joe Mazzello
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28
Collections: Mazlek Fic Exchange 2019





	I'm Standing At The Crossroads Now (The Fields Of Opportunity)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aburnishedthrone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aburnishedthrone/gifts).



> Author's note:  
> I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING HOSTED OR REPOSTED ON ANY UNOFFICIAL APPS OR WEBSITES OTHER THAN _ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN_ WITHOUT MY APPROVAL, PARTICULARLY APPS WITH AD REVENUE AND SUBSCRIPTION SERVICES.

“Cut!”

The last scene of the day. Joe groaned in relief and immediately ripped off his long wig, tangling it in the strings of his bass in the process. His perm ‘boing’ed up and outwards happily after being contained for so long. Ben promptly burst out laughing.

“Where is your hair trying to go, Joe?” he wheezed.

Joe grunted (he didn’t smile at all) and searched for his baseball cap. Before he could spot it, one of the rookie hairstylists flew through the door, snatched the Deacy-wig from his hands and started to berate him about treating it with too little caution.

Joe stood around for a quarter of an hour, looking like a kicked puppy, while the hairstylist ranted and sighed loudly in exasperation. From the corner of his eye he could see Gwilym and Rami being helped out of their white, wedding dress-like costumes and long wigs. Rami proceeded to take off his platform boots. He seemed to shrink at least three feet when he finally stepped out of them after loosening the shoe ties.

The hairstylist seemed to run out of air. “We’re being paid for a reason, Mr. Mazzello. Let us do our jobs and wait for us to help you with the equipment.”

One of the cameramen snorted at the word ‘equipment’, but quickly went silent when the young woman whipped around and gave him a death stare. She huffed in annoyance, whirled back around, gathered Joe’s and Ben’s wigs and the platform boots and stomped off.

“Jeez Louise,” Gwilym exclaimed. “You’ve made an enemy, Joe.”

“She isn’t wrong, I have to admit,” Joe murmured. “But the damn thing’s so fucking itchy! And it gets hot under there, you wouldn’t even know!”

“Yes, I would know. I wear the same wig for the entire movie.”

“Oh. Right.”

“’Least you don’t have to be refitted all the time, Gwil. Your hair and makeup routine is always the same.” Ben leaned on Joe’s shoulder and made a grab for the ginger frizz on his head. Joe slapped at his hands.

Rami shuffled through the room to join them, the hems of his bellbottoms sweeping the floor. He looked tired but contented.

“Tell this loser to keep his hands off my magnificent hair,” Joe demanded as soon as Rami was near enough. “If he keeps agitating me, you might have to hold me down, Rami.”

“As if he could,” Ben answered without thinking. When Rami started to snicker, Ben scrambled to fix his faux-pas. “I - I mean, you’re so wriggly, and you don’t have scruples to tickle if you don’t get your way!”

“Or to sing, God help us,” Rami tittered.

“Hey! My singing is great! And I’m not wriggly—” Joe stretched out a hand and tugged on Rami’s curls, flattened from the Freddie-wig. “You’re wriggly!”

“He does have a point,” Gwilym agreed. “Rami is very wriggly.”

“There, see? Wriggly master, that’s you. I really want to cuddle you all the time when you try to sit still.”

 _Whoops_. Joe quickly closed his mouth. Ben and Gwilym fell into a new round of cackling like chickens, but Rami gave him a baffled look. And then – later Joe was sure that he had only imagined it – he smiled one of his careful, little curved smiles, a hint of color tinting his pale cheeks.

… _pale_?

Joe did a double take. Rami was a little pale, indeed. He was more exhausted than he acted.

Joe cleared his throat. “Anyhow, we’re done here. Anyone want to watch some Robot Chicken before we turn in?”

Ben whooped. “Hell yeah, mate.”

“I’m in,” Gwilym nodded.

Joe turned back to Rami, who had started to rub the heel of his left hand across his belly. “Sure,” Rami said when he caught Joe’s questioning look.

Joe made sure Rami got the most room to stretch out when they squeezed themselves on a single couch later. (Before the theme song was over, Rami was already asleep.)

* * *

The day had barely begun, and Rami already felt miserable. The morning sun shone directly into his eyes, he could hear Ben’s alarm clock from two trailers over and he felt nauseous from the salmon sandwiches he had eaten the evening before.

He hated Thursdays.

After he had spent some minutes feeling sorry for himself he hoisted his behind out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. The toothpaste and cold water hurt his teeth, the glaring lights gave him a headache even though he was already squinting – when Rami was done with his morning routine, he was ready to go back to bed and sleep until weekend.

Joe was already up and about when Rami arrived at the breakfast buffet.

“Eyyo!” his longtime friend greeted him. Rami couldn’t hold back a smirk at the familiar call. “Rami, dude, we have to send a gift basket to catering. They made those Japanese pancakes you crave all the time, doh-ree-jackie?”

“Dorayaki,” Rami corrected him.

“Yeah, dourah—whatever. And there’s Chocolate Mousse. For _breakfast_. I’m the happiest man on earth.”

Rami tried to find the right amount of good mood to laugh at that, but Bryan Singer had planted himself in front of the plates with Dorayaki, looking as if someone had recently spit into his face. The nausea reared its ugly little head, and Rami surrendered to his fate and decided to skip breakfast to get the oncoming fight over with as quickly as possible. Joe tried to hold onto his arm, but Rami waved him away and gave him a weak smile. Joe scowled but gave up.

When he and Singer were done, he no longer had any appetite.

* * *

“Yes, yes, I do!” Lucy breathed. Rami curled up on the couch next to her. He took a breath. “So –”

“Wait, I was almost whispering that. Let me try again,” Lucy interrupted him. He left the couch again. She cleared her throat. “Yes! Yes, I do!”

They had a little break between takes, and Rami and Lucy were using it to practice. The engagement scene, in this case.

“Ohh! Yes, I do!”

“Wait, let me say my lines first!”

Lucy groaned and let herself fall back on the sofa. She clapped Rami’s wrist when he started to giggle.

“That sounded like a Victorian teenager. Oooh, yes, I do, I am going to faint!” he gasped in a high-pitched voice.

“Let me try one more time. Okay. Okay, okay. Yes! _Yes_ , I do!”

Rami folded his legs on the couch once more. He mimed putting a ring on Lucy’s finger and smirked when she sighed in exasperation.

“Hair and makeup is ready for you, Ms. Boynton,” one of the assistants called out. Lucy took off the imaginary ring and gave it back to Rami for safekeeping, both of them snickering all the way, then she followed the assistant outside. Rami found that he didn’t want to get up from the sofa again.

His stomach had started to hurt some time after lunch, which was frankly very frustrating, because it hurt _less_ when he didn’t eat anything; but since that was neither healthy nor a very smart move to make with all the running around he had to do as Freddie he had given up and munched on some salad and fries, or rather chips, as they were called in London.

The pressure eased the more he curled up, so he pulled his knees up to his chin and laid down on his left side. It was a little uncomfortable, but it helped.

A long ginger wig tickled his nose. Rami made a halfhearted movement to slap it away. Then he sneezed.

“Aahaha! Eww! I have to wear that for the rest of the day!”

“’s your fault,” Rami sniffled, scratching at his poor itchy nose. “Don’t put it in my face!”

Joe plopped down on the couch next to him. He gave Rami a once-over.

“Where’s your costume? We’re starting in like an hour.”

“Half of the hair and makeup team’s got the summer flu,” Rami explained. “They’re really short on staff, so they have to plaster us one at a time.”

“Oh golly. That sucks,” Joe said.

“Oh ‘golly’?”

“Bite me.”

Rami chortled. Joe gave him a Look, but it was more fond than annoyed. It was mostly fond, actually. Very fond. Really, really fond—

“What about you?”

“Huh?” Rami blurted, caught off guard.

“You got the flu, too? Are you cold?”

“No. Why?”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Your curled up on the couch like it’s 32 degrees,” he said conversationally, but Rami could hear the resonating worry. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m—”

Joe gave him another Look, this time with absolute seriousness.

“Well… maybe I have the flu…?”

“That’s what I thought,” Joe grunted. “You’re not eating much. You’re pale, too, a little. How’re you feeling?”

“I get headaches really easily since the last two days or so,” Rami admitted, “and I feel a little queasy. Not too bad, though.”

“You should take a sick day.”

“Will you tell that to Singer? Because I won’t,” Rami grumbled and curled up a little tighter.

Joe sighed loudly. “God, this is shitty. This is all absolute shit,” he railed, scooting a little closer to Rami and burying his long fingers in dark, soft curls. Rami hummed contentedly.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“God help us if that asshole decided to do his job and not blame everyone else for things not happening _because_ he doesn’t do his job.” Joe groaned. “Hey, I think it’s your turn in H and M.”

“H and M?” Rami mumbled, squinting to see Lucy reentering the room with the assistant in tow.

“Yeah, hair and makeup, H and M. Genius, isn’t it?”

“Genius, yeah.”

Joe huffed a laugh. “Don’t I know it. You feeling any better?”

“Yes, very much so. Thank you. You’re good at petting… me…”

If someone had had cold fingers, he could have warmed them on Rami’s ears in that moment.

Joe seemed to fare similarly. “Uh, thanks. I like petting you.” He paused for a second, then he buried his face in his hands. (Sadly, his ears were hidden underneath the Deacy-wig.)

“I’m gonna go to H and M then. See you in a minute,” Rami said quickly before the rest of his face could follow his ears. He stretched his limbs and stood up.

“Yeah, see ya,” Joe replied and lifted his face out of his hands, patting Rami’s side two times before he was out of reach and snorted. Rami grinned back.

Then he left the room to let the H and M team ‘plaster’ him.

* * *

Off. That’s what Rami looked. Joe watched him throughout the day, and he definitely looked off. He squirmed around when he had to sit still, he paced restlessly when he had to stand up, scrunched up his nose (which was adorable, admittingly) and took every opportunity to lie down and curl up as tight as possible. Joe was reminded of one of his scenes in “The Pacific”: ‘never sit when you can lie down’ and so on.

Long story short – he was worried.

“You want my salad?”

Rami shook his head. He poked at his spaghetti and sipped a little water. Gwilym took Ben’s salad instead.

“Rami, eat a little,” Joe whispered, leaning over the table. “You’ll need it for later.”

“Your wig is hanging in the sauce,” Rami murmured back. “I’m not hungry, Joe,” he added as Joe quickly removed the wig from the saucepot.

“Rami—”

“Joe, I really don’t… I don’t… I’m not hungry.”

 _I don’t feel well,_ Joe ended his sentence for him. There was no doubt about that. Rami was pale, almost greyish.

When Rami suddenly doubled over in the middle of a scene, Joe had had enough.

“O-ow” Rami hiccupped and clutched at his belly.

“That’s it, Rami. You are going to your trailer and in your bed, right now.”

Gwilym and Ben shared a worried glance and followed their castmates to where Joe had led Rami to sit down. Rami immediately pulled up his legs and leaned to his left side. Joe quickly shoved his shoulder underneath Rami’s, effectively steadying him. He waved a few anxious assistants, sound techs and their temporary director aside who all wanted to call an ambulance. (Singer hadn’t shown up that morning. Joe thanked the heavens for small mercies.)

“Get home and lie down, Rami,” Graham agreed finally. “I know we’re on a tight schedule as it is, but that’s no reason I’m letting anyone work with a stomach bug.”

Some minutes were needed to convince Rami that it really was the best decision, then he shuffled off to hair and makeup to lose his Freddie attire and went home afterwards. Joe, Ben and Gwilym took the time to experiment with the small Freddie-less scene in the kitchen, taking and re-taking Roger’s angry outburst again and again. They volunteered to help with wiping and gathering shards after the fifteenth take; Ben felt a little bad about it.

They didn’t see hide or hair from Rami until two days later, when he turned up at breakfast, looking even worse than he had when they had sent him home. However, he insisted that he felt much better and the schedule had only gotten tighter, so nobody protested.

* * *

The shrilling of an alarm clock woke up the entire trailer park, as it did every morning. Dew clung to door knobs and window panes like glass beads, the autumn sun bathed the trucks in golden light, and Rami had overslept.

He should have been in a meeting a quarter hour earlier, but despite this he stayed lying in bed.

The reason for that unusual behavior was as following:

His lower belly cramped so badly that he couldn’t move his legs.

(That being said, he did try to move said legs a few times, but quickly gave up after having to contemplate if it was better to vomit or faint from the pain.)

His predicament gave him time to philosophize about life and his current situation.

Rami had no reason to lie to himself; his greatest wish was to pack up and take a plane home, lie down on the couch in the house he shared with Sami and complain endlessly about his misfortune, while his twin listened on in patient and loving exasperation, until he felt better. Then he would fly back and do the same on Joe’s couch, and only _then_ he would take on Bryan Singer and continue with the movie.

He wanted to kick himself in the ass for even thinking about putting the movie at the back, he wanted to do Brian and Roger proud of course, and Freddie, too. But he also had never felt so utterly horrible in his entire life (except maybe on the day he had been cast for his second terrorist role) and couldn’t help but entertain the childish notion that everything would be better if he went home.

And why wouldn’t it be? There was no Singer in California, no flu epidemics and no open-air events he would be forced to wear a tank top to. Just a big house and a warm bed he could stretch out like a starfish in without knocking over the bedside table, and Sami and his mom. He wanted Sami’s Koshari, goddamnit.

The thought of food seemed to enrage his writhing stomach. ‘Shit,’ Rami thought, and tried in vain to get up so he could puke in the bathroom in peace. Which was the moment Joe decided to come looking for him.

“Rami, are you awake? You’re late… again. Very in character, if I may add.”

Rami didn’t know what kind of sound he made to answer that, but it must have been terrifying enough to make Joe worry.

“Are you alright? Rami? I’m coming in now, okay? Are you decent? You know what, I don’t care. Here I come.”

The door flew open. “Rise and shine! If you’re beating your meat right now, finish up. Because I’m gonna plant my ass right here—” at this he sat down on the little rickety table next to the kitchenette, “…and _watch_ you until you stop. Your choice. I’m absolutely seri _oh_ _shit_ , what’s the matter?”

“Joe,” Rami grunted with effort, “Th-there’s a… a heat pad in m-my suitcase, would you…?”

“Yeah, sure, sure.” Joe frantically rummaged through Rami’s suitcase, dislodging a few books and a tablet.

“Is that an e-book? Man, you’re old.”

“ _Joe_.”

“Sorry! Sorry. There it is.”

Rami accepted the dark blue pillow-shaped pad and turned it on the highest setting. Then he placed over the area where the cramps were the worst.

“Why do you even have that with you? Did you had a bout of clairvoyance that you’d get sick?”

“No, my feet get cold at night. I prefer heat pads to socks. Need some freedom at night, you know.”

“I see.” Joe smirked at him. “Freedom, huh? That’s sweet.”

Rami shrugged, a little abashed, adjusting the heat pad on his abdomen.

“So, you’re into voyeurism?”

Joe burst out laughing. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, (well, he neighed), “You’ll never let me forget that from now on, will you? I don’t know why I said that, just started talking without thinking. Hold on—” He gasped for air. “How do you know such dirty, dirty words anyway?”

“I’m not a virgin—”

“But you’re Rami. My little vanilla Rami. You just destroyed my entire impression of you, sweetheart. I’m done for!”

Rami did his best not to blush at the endearment. But who wouldn’t like Joe to call them ‘sweetheart’?

“Where did you get the impression that I was vanilla?” he asked.

Joe rolled his eyes. “Come on, dude. You’re the sweetest guy in existence. The thought of you being into, like, bondage or something, is just… well, bondage I could imagine, I guess. But voyeurism? Or, uh, what have you, spanking? No way in hell.”

Now Rami started to giggle. “I look like I’m into bondage?”

Joe’s face glowed like a fire truck. “I’m—dude, that wasn’t the point! I only wanted to—”

But Rami was beyond reason. Tears of pain rolled down his cheeks as he howled in laughter, because his belly was still cramping no matter how funny the situation was and laughing made it worse, and he had to hold on to the heat pad so it wouldn’t slip down his torso.

“I have to inform you that I hate you. I’m gonna snitch to Sami.”

“You do that,” Rami panted. He was happy to notice that he could move his legs again. “Just remember that he’ll want to know how exactly this conversation came to be.”

Joe grumbled. “Well, maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Rami nodded and sighed deeply.

“Jesus, we’re super late,” he moaned when he took a look at the clock on his bedside table.

Joe nodded, completely unconcerned. “How’s your tummy? Better now?”

“Yes, my ‘tummy’ is better, thank you.” Rami gave Joe a grateful smile.

“Good, that’s… that’s good.” Joe seemed to lose his mirth, his expression turned worried once more. “I could tell them you’ve been sick. You were just about to when I came in, weren’t you?”

“Uh…”

“Rami,” Joe scolded gently. “You’ve got a nasty stomach bug, as it looks like. You’re either gonna collapse at some point or infect everyone else, I’m sure even Singer will understand that.” He paused for a second. “Well, at least he might understand it when I tell him ‘No crew: bad. No actors: more bad’.” (Joe’s Tarzan-voice was immaculate.)

Rami snorted. “Please don’t.”

Joe sighed. “I guess not. But I’d like to.”

“Believe me, I would, too,” Rami said. Then he rolled out of bed.

* * *

It was Ben’s turn to host Robot Chicken. Joe had to provide the chips (he had had to search for ‘crisps’ and just wanted to quietly cry into his phone to tell Gwil what an awful, awful country this was. Gwil would have laughed at him).

“Joe to the rescue!” he shouted as he barged into Ben’s trailer. “I bring food and drink!”

“Y’forgot an ‘s’ there, mate,” Gwilym told him where he was fiddling with the Blu Ray player.

“I bring food, drink and ‘s’ for everyone!” Joe corrected. Gwilym sighed.

Ben was making popcorn in the kitchen alcove. Rami was, unsurprisingly, on the couch.

“Joe, thank God,” he exclaimed. “Get over here.”

Joe obeyed. As soon as he was nearer, he realized that Rami was pouting.

“What’s up?”

“No one wants to cuddle with me,” Rami complained, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes. He pointed at Ben when he entered his range of vision with the same arm.

“Why do you forsake me?”

“I’m busy,” Ben argued.

Joe almost wondered why no one seemed to take offense in Rami doing nothing to help, but as he looked at him, small and pale and drowning in the big sweater he wore, Joe was very sure that Gwilym and Ben had had the same thoughts as him.

Firstly: lay him on a couch.

Secondly: keep him warm.

And thirdly: cuddle the soul out of him (Ben and Gwilym had for some reason neglected this point).

Steps one and two were taken, so Joe proceeded to fulfill the last one, as well.

Rami gave a contented hum when Joe flopped onto the couch and wrapped his arms around his petite friend. The hum rumbled in Rami’s chest and therefore also in Joe’s, and it made Joe feel… well, pretty good for one. He was not going to analyze the rest.

“Hey, leave some space for us!”

“Too late, darling,” Rami murmured happily into Joe’s sleeve.

Gwilym looked a little sad. When he saw that Joe was looking at him, he made good work of pulling the corners of his mouth as far downwards as possible, resulting in the most pitiful facial expression Joe had ever seen.

Joe proceeded to pull Rami on his lap to make room. Rami squeaked.

“What are them noises for? I’m comfortable!” Joe said, playfully scandalized. He squeezed him closer until he could feel Rami’s cheek squish on his chest.

“Alright, alright, stop squeezing! You’re gonna crush my head!”

Joe moved his left arm away from Rami’s upper back and wrapped both around his waist instead. “Better?”

Rami wiggled a little, turning so his back was pressed to Joe’s chest, then crossing his own arms over Joe’s on his waist, pushing them down a little. Joe got the hint – he hugged Rami’s abdomen a little bit tighter until Rami relaxed in his arms and snuggled his head against Joe’s neck.

Over the course of the few (well, nine) episodes they watched Rami refused the chips as well as the popcorn, sipping on his glass of sparkly water and giggling quietly at a few hilarious moments. The giggling made Joe’s arms around his waist shake, causing Joe to seriously debate if he should tickle him or not. (He refrained, with heroical effort.)

“Are you on a health trip or something? Should I order a salad?” Ben joked as Rami declined eating popcorn for the sixth time. Gwilym was dozing off.

“Dude,” Joe piped up, “that popcorn is _nasty_. I wouldn’t eat it either if I weren’t such a good friend.”

“Nasty?! I’m gonna show you nasty!”

They started to grapple, waking Gwil and accidently knocking poor Rami off the couch while doing so.

“Girls, you’re both equally pretty, so please stop this bullshit,” Gwil grumbled and wrapped an arm around Joe while holding Ben back by planting a hand in the middle of his face. Peals of laughter rang out into the darkish living room; Ben tried to lick at Gwilym’s fingers and Joe poked at his prison guards’ neck and armpits.

“Were you a cactus in your former life? Stop poking!”

“I was a hedgehog. The fastest and pokiest of them all, because if I didn’t poke, I’d be very blue.”

“I don’t even know how I’m supposed to answer that intelligently, so I won’t. There you have it.”

“Now _that_ ’s what I call nasty, Ben. Take some lessons from Gwilly here.”

Joe stopped poking and peeked over the side of the couch.

“Rami, it’s safe now, you can come back up.”

Rami, who had landed on his side, had rolled up into a tiny little ball, knees pulled towards his chin and arms tucked against his belly. He was breathing in short, shallow bursts.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” Ben stammered when he saw this, “Did we hurt you?”

“Nn-no,” Rami garbled, trying to relax his tense posture. “Just landed wrong. _Ouch_.”

He breathed a few more times, then he sat up and grinned up at them.

“Where did you figure that Sonic the Hedgehog was depressed? He always seemed very happy to me…” Rami said.

“Nasty,” Joe answered.

* * *

“Off,” Joe said. The TV wouldn’t listen. He pushed the button on the remote again. Nothing happened. “Off! Ugh.”

He muted the stubborn piece of machinery and left his trailer to go over to Rami. Just because he wanted to.

He stepped inside without knocking, taking off his shoes at the door and hanging his thin jacket on the coat hook on the wall. It creaked menacingly, then the whole damn thing crashed to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Did you break something?” Rami called from where he was sprawled on the bed.

“Just your coat hanger,” Joe replied, picking off both his jacket and said hook and laying it on the rickety table next to the tiny window.

“Sorry,” Rami said to whoever he was on the phone with.

Joe left him to his call and took a look into the fridge, taking out a bottle of coke and closing it again.

“Yeah, Jasmine, I know,” Rami mumbled into his phone. Joe raised his eyebrows. His sister?

“No, I haven’t. No, no. Really. Promise. I- what? No! I would never! Ask Sami if you want!”

His sister.

“No- uh, yeah. Of course.” A pause. “You think so? Huh. No, sure, it’s worth a try.”

Rami listened intently, absentmindedly chewing on his index fingernail. Joe found himself reluctantly curious.

A sigh. “I would if I could, really. Yeah, I know what year we’re having, you just have no idea what my director is like.”

Joe pulled a face.

“Mhm. Mhmm, yeah. Exactly. Listen, I’m gonna try, okay? If it doesn’t work, I’m gonna call you back- yes, I’ll go to a doctor, but only after I called you back, alright? Hm? No, I’m not open to negotiate that.” Rami gave a little laugh. “Yeah, you too. Love you. Bye-bye.”

He hung up and deposited his phone on the bedside table. Joe sat down next to him.

“Your sister?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you call her every time you’re not feeling too hot instead of going to a doc?”

Rami had the decency to blush a little. “Well, yeah. I’m not the only one taking advantage, though. Sami—”

“Sami definitely will go to a doctor before calling a family member about it. He’d surely do it just for a second opinion.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Ha. Think again.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point, anyway. Did you ask her about your stomach bug?”

“Yeah. She said to try some tea with fennel, aniseed and caraway in it, and – well.”

“She told you to rest,” Joe deduced, “and you told her that you couldn’t, because we have been blessed with the most god-awful director in movie history.”

“That’s the summary, yeah.”

Jasmine had been spot-on with her treatment plan; rest was the point on that list that Rami needed the most but couldn’t get. Very frustrating.

“Great,” Joe huffed.

Rami lifted his head and looked at Joe. He didn’t say anything, he just… looked. As if Joe had hung the moon and the stars for him.

“What’s got you looking like that? Do I have something on my face?” Joe said, a little nervously. He demonstratively pawed at his face. “Oh, my nose. That’s what on my face. Do you have a swatter, by any chance?”

“Oh, shut up,” Rami admonished him. “If you’re going to start hating on your nose, I’m going to start hating on my eye—”

“No!”

“There you go. Or I’d take my ears. Dealer’s choice.”

Joe tilted his head in confusion. “What’s wrong with your ears?”

His companion made a grab for said body parts, giving his right ear a little tug.

“They’re… somewhat pointy, I guess.”

“Sami has exactly the same ears. And eyes, too, by the way. Why wouldn’t you like them?”

Rami shrugged self-consciously. “Well, I always had the impression that they fit Sami better than me. Don’t know why.”

“I bet Sami thinks exactly the same,” Joe said.

“He does, at least he says so,” Rami admitted, “But that doesn’t make the feeling go away, you get me?”

Joe hummed. “Well, I like your ears and eyes and my nose just the same. Gives us character, don’t you think?”

The little smile that bloomed on Rami’s face made Joe want to melt. He reached out with his hands and first stroked them through Rami’s hair, then he rubbed the adorable pointy ears with his thumbs while cradling Rami’s jaw in his palms.

“Anyway, you and Sami don’t have to like your ears. I love them enough for the both of you.”

Rami leaned into Joe’s warm hands, shuddering under the attention his ears were getting. He lifted a hand and booped Joe’s nose. Joe booped him back.

“Thank you,” Rami breathed and closed his eyes. He rested his forehead against Joe’s. Joe’s long nose touched Rami’s little round one, Rami’s eyelashes brushing over Joe’s cheeks.

Joe was sure that his cheeks were brighter than his hair, but he just couldn’t resist leaning in a little more, and a little bit more, _and just a tiny little bit more_ —

Their lips brushed.

It was just for the fraction of a second, but for Joe it felt as if he had been punched in the mouth.

“Oh,” said Rami. His eyes were open again and wide as saucers.

They leaned back, slowly, as if they didn’t quite want to.

“That was – um, sorry,” Joe stuttered, taking his hands away from Rami’s face, noticing what certain position he had been mirroring.

“No, no, it was my fault,” Rami warded him off.

Joe turned a little where he sat so that they were sitting next to each other once more. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Ahem, well. Should we… should we practice Another One Bites the Dust for a bit?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Joe was a little worried that the almost-kiss had destroyed their easy togetherness, but when Rami put his head on Joe’s shoulder when they went through their script for the third time he came to the conclusion that such things weren’t as complicated and dramatical as they were in movies.

* * *

“I’m going to the fun fair,” Joe announced when Another One Bites the Dust was finally done.

“That’s where you have always belonged. Be free, my child, be free!”

Joe gifted Ben with a scathing look. “Shut up. Why do you have those things in the middle of fall anyway? This country, I swear.”

“Because we’re awesome all year ‘round. And it’s ‘autumn’, Joe.” Gwil said.

“No, it’s fucking fall, and you know why? Because the leaves _fall_ down from the damn trees.”

“Sure, Joe.”

“Can you believe this? No one appreciates me,” Joe complained to Jan, their god of a stylist.

“Oh, they’re still young, they don’t know what’s good yet,” Jan replied absentmindedly while prodding at Rami’s fake mustache to make sure it was sitting straight for the continuity photo. “But this one right here knows to appreciate you.”

Rami blushed on command. “Well,” he said, “I certainly came to appreciate you during filming back then. Wouldn’t have made it far without you. And you taught me a lot, too.”

Now it was Joe’s turn to blush. “You always say that when the topic comes up.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

They stared at each other for a few more seconds, then Joe cleared his throat.

“Yeah, we did a series together, like, twelve years back?”

Rami grinned. “Yeah, it’s called The Pacific. Did we ever tell you about that?”

The cacophony of Gwilym and Ben’s agonized groans mixed with the raucous laughter of the crew. Joe and Rami shared one last long look and remembered long nights of talking and holding each other when their characters just wouldn’t let go of them.

“Anyhow!” Joe interrupted the outbreak of noise with a shout.

“Anyhow,” he began anew when Ben and Gwil had calmed down, “Will you go to the fair with me? I wanna go on the rollercoaster.”

Ben shook his head. “How old are you again?”

“Rollercoasters aren’t for little kids, Ben,” Joe said appallingly. “They get scared, Ben. They slip out and die, Ben. They scream way too loud, Ben! How could you imply that someone would want to traumatize little kids by letting them on a rollercoaster?”

“In what horror universe do you live and can I burn it down?” Rami asked from the side.

“I don’t even wanna know how your childhood looked like, Joe.” Ben grimaced. “Must have been hard for you.”

“Sure, sure. Had two siblings, after all. Now, will you go with me or do I have to buy myself a balloon with ‘Forever alone and unloved’ on it?”

“If I’m being honest with you, I’d rather spend one of my few free days sleeping in and not being screamed at, er, without noise.”

Rami snorted at Gwil’s slip of the tongue; no one understood that more than him. Playing the leading role had brought him more suffering than joy, if one summed it up. (He didn’t. If he’d had, he probably would have lost his motivation as well as his patience, and he really couldn’t afford that.)

“Come _on_ , man,” Joe whined, “A fair! How many times a year do you get such an opportunity?”

“More often than you Americans, is how it looks,” Ben mumbled under his breath. “I’d rather go to McDonalds for breakfast, lunch and dinner without anyone telling me to not get my costume or wig dirty.”

Joe looked a little upset. “Rami, what do you want to do?” he asked.

Rami shrugged. “Uh,” he said lamely. What would he do? Probably—

“Lie down on something and sleep for three days. Got it. Looks like I will have to buy that balloon.”

“But, Joe—”

“I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Rami, I encourage that. Find yourself somewhere soft and warm to lie in and sleep for three days. Or longer. Preferably longer.”

“I’ll go with you to the fair,” Rami intercepted him before he could go on a rant.

Joe beamed at the British part of their little group.

“You see that? He’s been miserably sick for the last two weeks but still wants to go with me. That’s what friendship looks like. Write it down, losers.” He turned to Rami. “Really, though, you should stay in bed. That’s what everyone’s kept telling you for the last couple of days.”

And oh, how much Rami wanted to do just that. He felt utterly terrible. His right side hurt with every breath and his abdomen cramped with every step, for some reason his pants had gotten tighter and taking them off curiously hurt more than wearing them, so he really wanted to just drift off until everything was over. Sometimes he almost wished he had an alter like Mr. Robot that took over for him.

Therefore, going to a fair was the last thing he wanted to do, but the promise of spending time with Joe made him reconsider. He was aware that his motives were a little ambiguous; Rami needed distraction, Joe needed entertainment, Rami needed closure, Joe needed friendly attention – and accompanying him to a fair was better than sitting at McDonald’s all day.

“No McDonald’s?” Ben grumbled.

“Come on, Joe, let us have something American once in a while,” Gwil followed suit.

But Joe stuck to his guns.

“I’ll get all y’all a round of cotton candy as reward for coming with me, how’s that sound?” Joe declared as soon as they were at the perimeter.

“I want blue one,” Ben decided.

Gwil stuck out his head to look over the crowd. “They have different colors?”

“Sure they do,” Joe said, elbowing his way to the queue.

As soon as they were equipped with cotton candy and glazed almonds Joe dragged them to the rollercoaster.

“I’ll wait here,” Rami said quickly as his three companions wondered where to put the candy and their backpacks. “I’ll hold onto your stuff and eat everything by myself.”

“Fair,” Joe found and shrugged off his backpack.

Rami did his best not to squirm too noticeably, but the stinging pain in his right side had slowly but surely gotten worse in the last two hours. He felt sore and bloated, already regretting having eaten a small amount of the cotton candy Joe had provided him with.

While Gwilym, Ben and Joe waited in line, Rami searched for a nice place to sit. He found a conveniently placed bench and sank down on it as gratefully as a man dying of thirst taking his first sip of water.

After a while the pain became so sharp that he couldn’t sit upright anymore. Doubled over as he was he didn’t notice the woman until she spoke to him.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Rami looked up. He did his best to unlock his arms from where he had slung them around his stomach and sat a little straighter, with an unhealthy amount of effort.

“Sir?”

“Uh, yeah. I, uh, took a ride on the rollercoaster… didn’t do me any good.” He tried a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. He leaned forward again.

“Should I call someone for you? Or get a doctor? There’s always a bobby around, I could—”

“No, no,” Rami denied, “I’ll be alright. My friends are still on the rollercoaster, but they’re gonna take care of me. Thank you very much, though.”

The woman did not look very convinced. “No problem,” she said. “But if you feel like you can’t wait anymore, I’m right over here, alright?”

“Okay. Thank you,” Rami told her earnestly. The woman nodded, then she turned around in a flurry of dreadlocks and entered one of the tickets-selling booths for the rollercoaster.

Rami wanted to bite his own ass – of course she hadn’t believed him; she knew that he hadn’t even bought a ticket for the damn rollercoaster. Well, as long as he didn’t pass out right in front of her booth, she would probably leave him alone (he appreciated her willingness to help, really, but his mood was just that bad that he just wanted to be left in peace).

“There’s still candy left!” Joe exclaimed, running up to Rami and snatching the paper bag from his hand. His reddish hair was wildly tousled and stood up in every possible and impossible direction. It looked… rather charming. “Did you spit in it? Oh, I don’t care. Yum.” Joe shoved a handful of almonds into his mouth.

“Did you stick your hand into a power socket?” Rami mumbled. He couldn’t quite bring himself to stand up from the bench.

“Who knows,” Gwilym shrugged his shoulders. He looked as if he had been riding a bike; only two to three locks were out of place. Ben looked as if he had spent the ride sitting next to Rami on the bench.

“You didn’t miss much, Rami,” he said, brushing a piece of cotton candy from his sweater, “It was pretty boring.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Joe interrupted him. “It was fun. But I think I’m ready for McDonald’s now.”

“Oh, you are, aren’t you?!” Gwil crowed gleefully.

“Why’s that?” Ben snickered. Rami gave them a weak grin. The fair blurred in front of his eyes when he stood up from the bench and followed them to where Joe had parked their rented car.

“Oh, I just get these cravings sometimes, you know? That’s my body’s natural reaction to adrenaline. Immediately wants some fatty, greasy, heart attack-inducing burger.” Joe paused. “Man, I sure am glad no one of us is a vegetarian. This lunch is gonna be a carnage.”

They had reached the parking lot.

“American through and through,” Ben nodded thoughtfully. He turned to Rami, who was walking next to him. “Next thing you know he’ll listen to country music and convert to Scientology.” He gave Rami a playful jab in his right side with his elbow.

Before Rami had quite realized what had happened, there was a little puddle of vomit in front of him.

In a matter of moments his little group had organized itself around him. Anxious questions rained down on him, one foreign arm was wrapped around his waist, another arm around his chest, a third hand guided them to their car.

Joe quickly unlocked it and opened one of the back doors so Rami could sit down.

“Did I hurt you? Did I break one of your ribs? Oh God, Rami, I’m so sorry,” Ben stammered, hands fluttering over Rami’s torso uncertainly.

Rami leaned into the seat, holding his side. He felt lightheaded and short of breath, his body just now noticing that he had just thrown up and quickly kicking his heartrate up to double speed.

“No, no, wasn’t your fault. Hurt pretty bad… before…” He was tired. Really tired—

“Before what? Did you eat something bad? Did you fall? Did someone kick you?”

Rami scrunched up his nose. “No,” he repeated, irritated, “No, Joe. It’s been like this for days. Today it’s just worse.”

“I’d say it’s ‘worst’,” Joe railed, squatting down next to Rami, tentatively raising a hand to his side. “Let me see?” he asked carefully.

Rami nodded. Joe gingerly pulled up Rami’s jacket and sweater, finding – nothing.

Just smooth, tawny brown skin and the waistband of his jeans that sat a little too snugly. He stroked tenderly over the warm skin just over the waistband. Rami’s breath hitched; Joe quickly pulled back his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. (Rami was a little confused. He also wanted Joe to continue.) “I can’t see any bruises,” Joe added as an afterthought, “But you ought to wear pants that are not as tight as this one. No wonder you have a stomach ache.”

“Yeah, for real, Rami,” Gwil agreed, “If you feel nauseous you should take all tight clothes off. Helps with breathing more deeply and stuff.”

“In public?” Rami giggled weakly, pulling his feet up on the seat. Nobody really could bring up the mood to laugh.

* * *

Joe had taken the backseat with Rami, letting the latter stretch horizontally over the seats with his head in Joe’s lap. Joe was stroking his hair in slow, steady movements. That, the sound of the car’s motor and Rami’s little unhappy murmurs he made when he was jostled was all that was heard on the way home.

Getting Rami in his bed was a team effort; he did most certainly not want to stand up again. It took the three of them to get him out of the car and through the trailer park to his bed. The squeaky little huffs he gave while being moved gave them goosebumps. His sheet-white face even more so.

“Get out of those trousers, Rami,” Joe ordered him gently when they had finally arrived at Rami’s trailer. Rami didn’t answer but fumbled uncoordinatedly at his fly. Joe moved his arm that was around Rami’s waist upward, so he had enough room. With a quiet ‘zip’ the fly was open – Rami immediately clapped a hand to his right side and pressed down.

“What are you doing? Stop pushing like that, you’re going to make it hurt worse,” Joe said, a little confused. He grasped Rami’s hand and pulled it away.

Rami gave a sound that was almost a shriek at the sudden release of pressure. A tear rolled down his cheek. Joe vaguely remembered Rami preferring pressure to help against his stomach aches and mentally kicked himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh God,” he rambled, hugging Rami as tight as he dared. Other than shivering, Rami barely moved. His hand didn’t resume its position.

Soon, they had Rami laying on the bed, Joe holding onto his upper body and Gwilym and Ben manning one pantleg each, pulling in a weird version of tug-o-war to free Rami from his skinny jeans. It would have been funny in any other circumstance, but Rami’s drawn face and his silent tears muted them to humor and spurred them on to move more effectively to get it over with quicker. The jacket and sweater came off next. Then the t-shirt he wore underneath, replaced with a baggy sweatshirt that seemed to have never-ending sleeves. (Joe was sure that they would be too long for Gwil’s arms, even. Who had owned that sweatshirt before Rami? Slenderman?)

Then they covered him with a few blankets and provided him with antiemetics and a bin for the worst case and sat with him for a while until Rami gave a whispered reassurance that he was a little better and would be able to sleep now.

“If he’s still like that tomorrow, I’ll call an ambulance on him. Have to take advantage of not having to pay for every ambulance ride, don’t I?” Joe murmured as he closed the door behind him.

“What’s wrong with him, anyway?” Ben asked nervously. “Flu or not, I don’t think a stomach bug causes that much pain. Do you think he accidentally stabbed himself or something?”

“No, I looked. Didn’t even have a bruise.” Joe rubbed a hand down his face and sighed deeply. “He should have gone to a doctor ages ago, but you know how he’s like. Actually, you don’t, but I know exactly. He had to be sent home once during shooting Mr. Robot because he was so sick, and Sam Esmail told me that he had to threaten Rami’s playtime with that dog to make him go. Completely ridiculous, that Rami. Can’t say I don’t love him, though.”

Gwilym and Ben shared a knowing look, but Joe was so deeply in thought that he didn’t even notice his slip.

“Really? That’s mad,” Ben replied conversationally.

“Yeah, I know, right? He’d probably die of a common cold if no one watched out for him.”

They had arrived at Joe’s trailer.

“Nevertheless, I’m glad I went on the rollercoaster with you, Joe,” Gwilym told him, trying his best to lighten the mood. “You don’t need little children to go deaf by screaming.”

“Oh, thank you very much, asshole,” Joe huffed. Ben cackled.

“You have to admit—” he had to wheeze for air— “your ‘magnificent’ hair finally lived up to its’ name. I’ve never seen a hairdo like yours after a rollercoaster designed for children.”

Joe was affronted. “That’s just its’ magic,” he huffed. “Yours is like someone painted it on your head.”

“Or maybe it’s a tattoo,” Gwil joined him, reaching for a blonde lock. “You never know.”

Ben whipped his head away like a horse. Joe imagined him neighing and burst out laughing. He didn’t explain it to Ben and Gwilym, who looked a little taken aback, and walked to the door of his trailer, turning his pockets inside out for his keys.

“I’d prefer to not know,” he said as goodbye, waved at Gwil’s smiling face and Ben’s middle finger and closed the door.

He didn’t sleep very well that night.

* * *

The next day found them waiting anxiously in the cafeteria, picking at their breakfast. Joe stared at the dorayaki with such a heartbreakingly sad expression that Gwil couldn’t take it anymore and stood up to visit their missing group member.

When he came back, it was with a beaming smile and a rested-looking Rami at his side.

Joe gaped at them. Ben let out a little whoop.

“Hey, mate! Feeling better?”

“Very. I think I’m finally out of the woods,” Rami smiled, looking very pleased with himself.

“So yesterday was the bug’s last stand or what?” Joe asked incredulously.

He couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Or Rami, for that matter. But there he was, still a little pale, but he was sitting up straight, no pained hunch in his posture, and he even eyed the dorayaki with joy glinting in his big eyes.

“I’m really fucking glad,” Joe said vigorously.

“Me, too,” Rami replied, heaping a healthy mount of Japanese pancakes on his plate. “I finally get to enjoy the amazing catering you’re always gush about.”

“Damn right,” Joe nodded.

Rami smirked. Joe’s heart skipped a beat. He cleared his throat and bit into his sandwich while Rami was downing the pancakes with gusto.

There was something they needed to talk about – but later. For now he wanted to bask in Rami’s presence and elated appetite.

* * *

“Open up! I need to talk to him!” Joe whispered at Rami’s door. The door didn’t react. Joe huffed a giggle, dropping the act and knocking. His heart was galloping in his chest, but he felt somewhat optimistic. And if the accidental kiss a few days back had taught him anything, it was that their friendship wouldn’t suffer if Rami didn’t reciprocate his feelings. He would be heartbroken for a bit, sure, and Rami would probably be endlessly apologetic, but they would be alright in the end.

“Up you go, sleeping beauty!” he sing-songed, knocking enthusiastically. “Come on, you can’t be asleep already,” he called when nothing happened. He knocked a little louder. Still nothing.

Joe’s heart began to beat a little faster, but for an entirely different reason. He had an inexplainable _very_ bad feeling.

“Did he lock the d- no, of course he didn’t,” he muttered under his breath as he tried the doorknob. “I’m coming in now,” he announced and stepped inside.

It was dark inside the trailer, a sign that Rami indeed wasn’t up. Joe searched for the light switch, found it and flipped it. The Bad Feeling skyrocketed.

Rami’s shoes stood in front of his bed, sprawled hazardly as if thrown.

Joe looked up to the bed.

His breath stopped.

Rami’s face was grey. He lay flat on his back, legs pulled up to his chest, breathing shallowly and looking for all the world like a completely different person than he had been at dinner.

“Jesus,” Joe breathed, “Oh, Jesus. Rami, where does it hurt?”

Rami gave a wheezing sound, his legs twitching. Joe dared to come a little closer, carefully sitting on the bed. He reached out for Rami’s legs and slowly straightened them until they lay outstretched on the bed. Rami whimpered quietly.

“Shh, it’s okay. It hurts, I know. Hard to miss.” He stroked Rami’s twiggy little wrists. They were like little space heaters – Rami was burning with fever. “Can you move those away?”

Rami complied. Joe slid a little closer and gingerly touched Rami’s lower abdomen.

It was hard as a board and looked bloated. When he lightly drummed his fingertips on the tensed muscles, Rami gave a small cry, kneeing Joe in the back as his legs tried to go back into the fetal position.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Joe stammered. “You’re gonna be fine, you hear? I’m calling an ambulance now, and don’t you argue with me about it.” Rami just moaned softly.

No sooner said than done; the paramedics were on their way and Joe tried his best to distract his suffering friend, wanting to sob with him when the pain overwhelmed Rami but instead telling him stories, real and made up, insulting Bryan Singer with the most imaginative cusses and even singing some Queen song for him (he’d never admit doing that afterwards) until he saw the flashing blue lights through the window shutters.

“They’re here. You’re gonna be alright now, okay? Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”

Rami heaved a shuddering breath and clutched Joe’s hand. “Okay,” he whispered.

* * *

The next few hours were a blur to Joe.

He was told that Rami’s appendix had ruptured and caused a generalized peritonitis.

A nurse told him Rami’s chances were good because Joe had gotten help quickly.

One of the doctors told him that Rami would be needing two surgeries, and didn’t he want to sit down for a bit?

Joe did want to sit down, but he couldn’t. His fingers trembled from adrenaline, and he felt like the biggest idiot on planet Earth.

Of course it had been appendicitis. Everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle in front of his eyes. No appetite, nausea, Rami holding his right side, cramps in his lower belly, releasing pressure being worse than the pressure itself, curling up – everything made sense.

But why had his appendix lasted almost three weeks?

“He did have a stomach bug first, as it looks like,” the doctor said when Joe asked him. “Wreaked havoc on his immune system; it didn’t stand a chance when his appendix became inflamed.”

“Why did it do that, anyway?”

“It was enlarged from the start. Was just a matter of time, really.”

Joe nodded miserably and took refuge on an uncomfortable chair in the hallway. He pulled out his phone and made some calls.

A few hours later Sami was on a plane and Nelly warbled frantic Arabic into his ear (Joe could picture her clutching her chest in a quite dramatic, but very understandable fashion).

Joe was in the process of trying to calm her down so he could call Jasmine when Ben suddenly stood in front of him.

“Nelly, I have to sleep now, I’m tired,” Joe said into the phone, which made Nelly stop in her tracks immediately.

“Yes, of course! You need to sleep. You need to rest well, and long, Joe, will you?” she answered sternly, ever the worried mother.

“I promise,” Joe answered, unable to hold back a affectionate smile.

“Good,” Nelly said. “Please tell my boy to call me when he’s with you.”

“Of course,” Joe said without knowing if she meant Rami or Sami.

“Lord, what has he done to himself again…” Nelly mumbled.

“Yeah, you can say that again. See you later, Nelly.”

“Yes, good-bye.”

She laid up. Joe put his phone into his pocket and looked up at Ben. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, mate. What happened? We saw the ambulance drive away, and Rami’s door was open, we thought someone had died.”

Joe shook his head and inhaled to explain. Instead he burst into tears.

“Oh God, Joe,” Gwilym whispered, visibly horrified. “I… I can’t even tell you how sorry I am—”

“Rami’s not dead,” Joe managed to sob, “But I thank God and every holy being on this world that I found him when I did. His peritoneum is inflamed really bad because his appendix burst.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.” Joe sniffled. Then he started to laugh hysterically.

At his friends’ bewildered looks he wheezed: “I’m – oh fucking hell, I’m so exhausted, but he isn’t dead and you thought he was dead because I—” he started to sob again and began to get a little fed up with his mood swings.

Ben squatted next to him and gave him a bear hug that was copied by Gwil from his other side.

He already felt a little better.

“And the greatest irony is,” he murmured while burying his face in Gwilym’s shoulder and gripping Ben’s hand, “I only came to him because I wanted to tell him how I—uhm.”

“Joe,” Gwil said gently, “I’m very glad that one of you finally did. Or tried to, at least.”

Ben nodded.

Joe couldn’t help but blush. “You knew that—”

“Mate, don’t insult us. I may wear glasses but I’m not blind. What am I saying, even a blind person would have noticed how utterly head-over-heels you two are for each other,” Gwil huffed.

_You two?_

“So you’re saying, I was on the right path there?”

“Joe, it’s ridiculous bad luck how this night turned out,” Ben said, “but if had been different in any way he would have told you that himself. And I don’t have to promise that and you don’t have to assume that, because I know. And I know that you know, too.”

Joe thought back to the kiss and to Rami’s face afterwards, surprised, but also full of wonder. And his curved little smiles that were just for Joe.

 _Well_ , he thought. Then he burst into tears again.

* * *

“How’s your pain?”

“Eight… I think.”

“I’ll be back with a painkiller in a minute. Try to sleep a little, if you can.”

Rami didn’t argue with the nurse and closed his eyes.

The three days before had been hell. Lots of moving and lots of stillness, an onslaught of pain, pain, _pain_ and then nothing, hands touching him and sheets wrapped far too tight around his feverish body.

Worst had been the four drainages he had found on the third day into his stay. He had woken up to Sami holding his hand, looked down and saw four thin tubes coming out of different places of his belly.

Unnecessary to say, he panicked.

The areas where the tubes vanished under his skin were uncomfortably numb, he felt sluggish and weak and all in all very vulnerable. He didn’t like it at all.

Sami wrapped his arms around his chest and pinned down his arms so that Rami wouldn’t accidentally hurt himself and just talked to him while Rami cried in confusion and terror.

“Doesn’t feel nice, I imagine, but it has to be. Flushes the infection out or something. Will make it stop hurting. You’re okay. You’re okay,” Sami’s voice rumbled in his ear. “You kinda look like Darth Vader, by the way.” Beautiful, wonderful Sami.

(It still was a relief to wake up and see the drainages gone.)

Sami had been his one constant in these four confusing, miserable days. He told him what had happened and what would happen to him after Rami unintentionally zoned out while the doctor spoke to him, he was a mostly quiet, reassuring presence, always down for a hug if Rami needed it, always there to just sit with him and remain in comfortable silence, just enjoying being together again, even if it was under such unfortunate circumstances.

He even had a few calls with his mother and sister, who both started crying at hearing his voice and berating him on not taking care of himself (his mother demanded that he come back home as soon as he was released and remained there until he was married so she could watch over him).

And then there was Joe.

Joe, who talked and talked and talked and cried his eyes out after Rami woke up after his first surgery and tried to apologize for the situation they had found themselves in.

Joe, who brought a book with bad jokes into the hospital when Rami didn’t pass out from the effort of laughing anymore.

Joe, who looked at him with big, hopeful eyes, so full of love that Rami’s heart skipped so much that they could see it on the cardio readout.

Rami’s determination to finally talk about That was second to none.

To his surprise Joe was faster.

“Actually, talking was the reason I came to you in the first place. When I found you, I mean.”

“Oh.” Rami’s throat felt like it was swollen shut (he quickly checked if it was actually swollen in reaction to the masses of antibiotics he had to take). He swallowed thickly and braced himself. For what, he didn’t really know.

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence arose.

Joe cleared his throat.

“Well, yeah, I’m gonna start then. You know that I like you, right? I really, really like you, but…”

 _But just as a friend_ , Rami completed the sentence in his head. Or _But I don’t like you_ that _way_.

“The thing is, I like you a little more than I may let on. Wait, let me rephrase that. In Gwil’s words: I like you exactly as much as I very well let on.”

Rami blinked up at him. He needed a little moment to compute.

Then he said:

“Oh.”

Joe stared at him. “Meaning?” he asked. His fingers shook. He saw Rami looking and hid them between his knees.

“I… did I let anything on?” Rami asked eventually.

Joe inclined his head. “The others said so, at least.”

“Well, then you know what I think about that,” Rami said contently.

A pause.

They burst out laughing.

“Hold on, hold on,” Joe wheezed, holding his spasming chest, “I’m not even sure we’re talking about the same thing right now.”

“Me neither.”

“Talk about dramatics, _Jesus_. I thought all those romance movies were lying!”

“I think nobody has said ‘I’m in love with you’ in a more complicated way, _ever_. My God!”

Their laughter faded, and Joe gaped at him.

Rami’s brain threw the towel for the evening. He had to replay his sentence in his head a few times.

 _Oh_ indeed.

But, really, why _oh_ at all?

The corners of his mouth turned up. Inexplainable confidence filled every crevice of his body.

“Joe, I’m in love with you,” he said.

Joe gave an incredulous laugh. He beamed so much that it was as if Rami was looking directly into the sun.

“I’m in love with you, too, Rami,” he answered, eyes crinkling in overwhelming joy and legs bobbing up and down in giddy excitement.

“That’s great,” Rami breathed.

Joe guffawed. Everything was well.

* * *

Home. He was finally allowed to go home. Rami had to take a moment to give a silent thank you to whoever killed the last of the infection way earlier than the doctors expected.

They told him that he was in for a four-week rest period, minimum. A part of him wanted to sob in relief, another part wanted to scream in frustration – Bohemian Rhapsody was almost seven weeks behind schedule, just because of him.

That… wasn’t a very nice feeling.

What also wasn’t nice was that he’d have to swallow an entire handful of pills every morning, afternoon and evening to make sure that his peritoneum didn’t re-infect itself on a whim.

“This sucks, like, major dick,” Rami told Gwil when the latter raised his eyebrows in sympathy at the sight of the tower of antibiotic bottles on Rami’s bedside table.

“TMI,” Ben called from where he lounged on the floor. Joe had claimed the uncomfortable bedside chair.

“Look at this crap, man,” Rami complained. He waved his un-IV’ed arm at the unholy pile. “As far as the infection is concerned, it’s probably gonna suffocate on the bulk of the pills alone, never mind the contents!”

He still took the pills. He never wanted to feel pain like that again.

“You’re not going back to your trailer,” Joe decided when Rami came back to the topic of the movie. “I don’t think Singer is back already, but I’m not about to let him harass you about this.”

“Where am I supposed to go, then? Fly back home? Sami’d prefer that, honestly, but I don’t… I don’t want to abandon all of this. We’ll get through this, Bryan Singer or not. Queen deserves nothing less.”

“Yeah, but the lead actor dying of exhaustion after two surgeries and major illness isn’t the kind of press everyone’s looking for, you get me?”

And wasn’t that the biggest fear he’d had over the course of his career?

Rami’ was at a crossroads: give up and abandon everything and everyone for the sake of his own health – or soldier on for the sake of a legacy, an icon, a legend?

It wasn’t that much of a difficult decision.

“I’m staying.”

Joe opens his mouth, but Sami, who came back in after getting himself a coffee, beat him to it.

“I knew that you’d say that. I knew from the very beginning. But you know what I also know? I know that I won’t let you live in that miserable little trailer of yours after getting out of the hospital.” Sami frowned so heavily that Rami could just barely see his eyes droop in resignation and reluctant admiration. Rami didn’t quite understand the last part; not being able to give up was a trait they shared.

“Alright, no trailer then,” Rami gives in. “So, where should I go? To a hotel?”

“My flat’s not that far away,” Gwilym suggested, “but I think that’s not the best idea in this case.” He eyed Joe discreetly.

Joe stuck his tongue out at him.

“Then we’ll find an apartment. I’ll just say that you need someone to observe you in your condition,” he concluded.

Sami lifted his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Cheers to that,” he said.

Rami sank back into his pillow and sighed. Sami had veto’d, so there was legally nothing he could do to change anyone’s minds.

Facing Singer was also not high on his ‘favourites’ list.

* * *

Finding a flat was surprisingly easy – one of the producers owned a little flat next to Covent Garden and was willing to rent it to them for pocket change.

“You probably want to be back on your feet in as little time as possible,” she said to Rami on the phone. “The flat’s quite nice and airy – you’ll feel better as soon as you take a step inside.”

As it turned out, she was right. Rami got out of the hospital via wheelchair, but had to walk to the car and up a flight of stairs, so when they finally arrived and walked through the door all he wanted to do is find a sofa and collapse. Maybe he’d take his pills first. And some extra painkillers.

“Wow, fancy,” Joe hummed appreciatingly. He took off his shoes and made his way to the living room and kitchen. “Check this out, Rami!”

“Is there a couch?” Rami asked, struggling with his shoes while trying to not bend over. He wasn’t very successful.

“Yeah,” Joe answered.

“Does it look comfortable?”

“Guess so. You gonna nap?”

Rami stood up and immediately sat back down. The room started to spin.

“I think I’m gonna pass out.”

In a split second Joe was right next to him, holding his arm and mumbling reassuringly.

“You’re okay. Are you dizzy?”

At Rami’s nod Joe reached up to pet Rami’s hair, curling dark strands around his fingers and rubbing little circles into his forehead.

“Tell me when it’s over, then we’ll relocate to the couch, ‘kay?”

“Mhm.”

Relocating included Rami holding onto Joe’s arm with desperate determination to not fall over and Joe wrapping his other arm around Rami’s waist, his fingers stroking his side in careful reassurance.

Rami flinched when Joe’s finger touched one of the incision wounds.

“Sorry,” Joe murmured, “Did I hurt you? We’re almost there, see? Then you can show me how a real pro naps.”

“’Is okay,” Rami slurred, exhaustion settling on him like a heavy, dark veil. “I’ll nap the shit outta this afternoon. Could you get me a glass of water and my pills, though?”

“’Course,” Joe answered. He deposited Rami on the sofa, laid him down and lifted his legs up on the upholstery. The sofa had just the right length; there was enough room to stretch out his legs and for Joe to lie down with him if he wanted to.

Rami thought about asking him when Joe came back with the glass and the pills and sat Rami up by leaning him on his chest.

“Stay,” Rami demanded after the pills were downed and the glass was empty.

“Aye-aye.” Joe wrapped himself around Rami, holding his waist oh so gingerly and burying his face in his curls. “Nap the shit out of this afternoon. This couch really is damn comfortable. I’m never getting up again.”

“Neither am I,” Rami mumbled and closed his eyes.

The kiss came a little unexpected, but it was very welcome. Joe turned underneath Rami so that he didn’t have to move his sore torso too much and sighed into Rami’s mouth. Rami sighed back. He could feel Joe’s lips curling upwards, and a spike of joy, pure and warm, shot up his spine. He nipped at Joe’s bottom lip, which made Joe interpret Rami’s sighs as an invitation to use his tongue.

Rami hadn’t had anyone French-kiss him for quite a long time – he was embarrassed to say that he forgot what it felt like. The feeling of Joe’s tongue exploring his mouth and the other way round; the gradual loss of breath that went with it; the feeling of their heaving breaths and thundering hearts in their chests was something he never wanted to forget again.

“You feeling better now? Down for some sexy times?”

“Sex does cure everything,” Rami thought out loud, “but not when I’m high on painkillers and half-asleep. Takes the realness away, you know?”

“Got a point there,” Joe hummed, stretching out and hugging Rami around the belly, careful to not press down or touch any tender spots. “I also turned myself off by speaking the words ‘sexy times’. Who am I, Deadpool?”

“Deadpool is very sexy.”

“He looks like a baboon’s ass. That’s not sexy.”

Rami wanted to argue more, but sweet sleep claimed him before he could utter a word, safely cradled in Joe’s arms.

He slept better than he had in months.

* * *

“You’re not supposed to be up for so long,” Joe complained when Rami accompanied him to the kitchen to help with cooking.

“I’m bored. What’s cooking, good looking?”

Joe snickered. “Where did you learn that? Anyway, I’m making soup. Pumpkin soup.”

“Ugh,” Rami groaned, “more soup.”

“Yes, more soup. Sit down already.”

Rami obeyed, because his abdomen felt admittingly horribly sore. He watched as his boyfriend tasted the soup, clicking his tongue and starting to cut some garlic.

“Yum,” Rami said.

“I’d hoped you’d say that. Your antibiotics are on the counter.”

Rami moved to take them without argument.

Sami had had to fly back to America the day before because he had to go back to class, but they called each other daily. Rami spoke to his mother and sister at least once every two days, since they were still convinced that he would kill himself at any moment if no one was watching him.

When Gwil and Ben had visited and found them cuddling and making out on the couch, they had only grinned at them, deposited a nice little bouquet on the table and left again. There was nothing to say that wasn’t already known. (The bouquet had found a place in a vase on their kitchen table.)

And Rami? Rami was happier than he had ever been before. His long sickness leave had made Singer very angry, so angry in fact, that when Rami and Joe had visited the set to get some fresh clothing Singer had thrown a lamp at Rami’s head and now was en route to be fired by Fox. A new director would come soon to finally finish the movie.

And he could call Joe his boyfriend, in Sami’s words _finally_ , in his own words _just at the right time._ They were much older and somewhat wiser than they had been during The Pacific, and Rami had absolutely no doubt that Sami knew that, but God help him, pining for someone was exhausting. Or at least it was for the people that had to watch from the outside, in this case: Sami. So maybe he had a point.

Rami smiled and didn’t want to stop, even though the medication tasted vile and he kind of wanted to lay down.

“Did you put some pepper in, at least?” he asked, curling up on the little loveseat that for some reason stood next to the fridge.

Joe turned around and grinned at him. Rami's lovedrunk heart happily skipped a beat.

“You’ll have to guess, sweetheart. Look at me. Am I letting something on?”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> No, I have never studied medicine, this is why I read Wikipedia and wrote everything without great details.  
> (The sudden pain-free episode like Rami has it shortly before Joe finds him and calls the ambulance is a phenomenon that actually exists. I couldn't find the English translation, but its German name can be roughly translated to "foul peace". Very foreboding, isn't it?)
> 
> PS.: I pulled this entire story out of my ass. I hope I didn't make Sami & Mama Malek (especially her, in the phonecall with Joe) too OOC, but I just _had_ to include them.  
> PPS.: This is un-beta'd and mostly unedited. All typos and other mistakes are mine. I will hopefully find all of them at some point and correct them.  
> PPPS.: Joe's dad is healthy and well in this AU. I couldn't bear to do this to him, first a sick bf and then a sick dad? No sir, I'm done with sadness for this year. 
> 
> The prompt by lovely aburnishedthrone was as following:  
> "Rami or Joe get really, really sick during filming (can happen during any movie/TV show they're filming). They're so sick they have to go to the hospital. The one who isn't sick goes to the hospital to sit by their bedside. They take care of them when they're released and too weak to be alone at home. They can already be dating or this is what gets them to admit their feelings."  
> It's an indulgent hurt/comfort prompt, kay? And because I love indulgent hurt/comfort, I wrote a self-indulgent hurt/comfort story. There you go. I have no other reason. I had a blast!  
> ("They take care of them when they're released and too weak to be alone at home." That part was a little short but I hope you liked it anyway. I may write a follow-up for it, if you'd like (◕‿◕))  
> I originally wanted to go with pneumonia, but I got a little too involved with the internet and got a little grossed out, and I think that I wouldn't have gotten the non-graphic description stuff right if I had stuck to it. Also, I had pneumonia once, and I somehow really didn't want to do that to poor Rami. It's also contagious. So... peritonitis.
> 
> I had my worries that all of this focused too much on the hurt/comfort and not on Rami/Joe, and I still think that the romance was a little too minor, but oh well. 
> 
> If I get going, I will endlessly critizise this piece of crap story, so I'm gonna stop now. Thank you for reading, and thank you @sweetillusion for the Mazlek Exchange in the first place! I'm very happy to have had such an opportunety and I will definetely keep participating in future challenges and exchanges!  
> Crossposted on tumblr: **@rathernotmyname**


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